More Damages

As I said, Glenn Close is good, but it's all about Ted Danson. He is the most convincing TV villain since, who, maybe Stringer Bell (Idris Elba)? He knows how you loved Sammy, and he'll turn on that old Sammy charm only to shock you all the better when he twists the knife. You know he's good because now he has you wondering whether it was really Sammy you misjudged.

Big water

Originally constructed in the 1870s as a for-profit toll trail, the Upper Yosemite Falls Trail is a relentless leg-burner for an old dude like me. Aidan kept a stiff upper lip, but I could tell he was flagging as well by the halfway point. In late March the valley rim was still covered in deep snow, and slipping and sliding down to the cliff's edge was anxiety-inducing, despite the assurance of a minimalist railing between you and a 1400-foot quick way down. Needless to say, it is a wonderful thing.

Thanks, Nancy

Tea Partiers are right to vilify Nancy Pelosi. She does a Californian proud.

Not much of a meal

The first-ever harvest of edible fungi in the yard. Two morels, each half the size of my pinky. I'm still hungry.

Spring has sprung

To left, the fantastic and easy California native currant, Ribes sanguineum glutinosum.

Below, Ceanothus "Dark Star" is covered in these this time of year, the buds even prettier than the flowers.

Slime mold of the day

Saw something very much like this on the trail in Foothills Park on Sunday, but lacking a camera I must now rely on the wonderful folks at Mykoweb for the photo. These were quite tiny, looking like minuscule, brilliant salmon eggs carefully arranged on a bay laurel log. What the world needs is a nice full-color field guide to the slime molds. Don't you agree? (By the way, they are not fungi, despite the label below.)

Damages

Watching the current season, and catching up on season 1 via DVD. Glenn Close, with her beady animal eyes, raptor beak, and plastic mouth, is perfect, and clearly enjoying every moment. I haven't yet decided whether the other actors are up to the task of taking her on. But it's a kick so far.

A Most Wanted Man

John le Carre's Cold War spy novels are among my favorite books: meditations on the peculiar character of their time, but also on the human condition. Not to mention that they are highly effective thrillers and beautifully written. Few novelists have achieved so much so efficiently, working in so narrow a genre, and so entertainingly.

Post-Cold War, there was a gradual decline. I'm somewhat reluctant to admit that I eventually lost interest... until I was browsing for some escapism recently at Kepler's Books, and Alan Furst's endorsement of A Most Wanted Man jumped off the cover. OK, Alan, you sold me.

And it's a good read. The plotting is, as they say, brisk, the writing unmistakably le Carre. So what's not to like? Well, the characters, for one. Our hero, Tommy Brue, is a le Carre stock character, the almost washed-up, 60-year-old Brit trying to live up to, or live down, the legacy of his dad. The love interest, Annabel, is further evidence that le Carre is constitutionally incapable of creating a compelling female character. OK, he still has the remaining 50 percent of the human race to work with, right? Wrong: the hapless victim of this intrigue, a Chechen named Issa, is himself a crude caricature.

Is there then a single well-rounded, believable character in the book? Indeed there is, thankfully: the German spymaster Bachmann, a highly competent Smiley-type whose little shreds of conscience and credulity prove to be his undoing.

We read le Carre for the Smileys and Bachmanns, but we also need a supporting cast of convincing foils for our flawed heroes. We don't get them here. Maybe the master has lost his touch, but I am inclined to think that the source of the problem is his righteous outrage at the post-9/11 new world order, with his despised American spooks firmly in charge. We can only hope that the age of Obama, whatever its flaws, will restore John le Carre's faith in moral ambiguity, in all its glorious shades of gray.